ix ❧ video/action; midnight 19th/20th
[Some of you may recognize what Paderau's up to from New Year's. For the rest, it's still fairly obvious that the woman in the mirror is dancing at the ruins. She is surprisingly graceful for her tall height, and this is obviously a dance she has done many times before. Hundreds of years of practice, and even the flick and heft of her wrists, the sway of her hair, the point of her toes, is exactly as it should be.
There's an enormous amount of comfort in the familiar ritual, in the pull of her muscles as she moves and flexes, pushing her human body into elegant shapes that were meant for a bird. The dance is not particularly slow, but she does not lose her balance even when twirling, even when jumping, even when she pushes up on her toes, her entire body poised. She has an incredible amount of presence, an infectious joy, a glow. But then, the last may be a bit literal. There is a luster clinging to her skin, a faint orange brilliance that grows brighter the longer she dances and the faster and more consumed her movements become.
Inevitably, the glow turns to flame and the flame turns to inferno, sparking with every stomp and flaring with every gesture. She would dare anyone nearby to resist the urge to dance with her when the air is so alive. She would dare them to deny that they can hear the same music that beats in her blood.
Better than sex, and when her fires have begun to fade, she's left grinning, panting, sweaty.]
Guess we're not having a mass orgy or a virgin sacrifice for the equinox, huh.
[[ooc; those links are just me being silly. and the rites of spring fucking terrifies me. I'm also going to answer any tags in the morning.]]
There's an enormous amount of comfort in the familiar ritual, in the pull of her muscles as she moves and flexes, pushing her human body into elegant shapes that were meant for a bird. The dance is not particularly slow, but she does not lose her balance even when twirling, even when jumping, even when she pushes up on her toes, her entire body poised. She has an incredible amount of presence, an infectious joy, a glow. But then, the last may be a bit literal. There is a luster clinging to her skin, a faint orange brilliance that grows brighter the longer she dances and the faster and more consumed her movements become.
Inevitably, the glow turns to flame and the flame turns to inferno, sparking with every stomp and flaring with every gesture. She would dare anyone nearby to resist the urge to dance with her when the air is so alive. She would dare them to deny that they can hear the same music that beats in her blood.
Better than sex, and when her fires have begun to fade, she's left grinning, panting, sweaty.]
Guess we're not having a mass orgy or a virgin sacrifice for the equinox, huh.
[[ooc; those links are just me being silly. and the rites of spring fucking terrifies me. I'm also going to answer any tags in the morning.]]